


Straight to the Thunder

by jonius_belonius (Joni_Beloni)



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: M/M, Minor Violence, Spanking, bad behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 05:26:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4423097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joni_Beloni/pseuds/jonius_belonius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike works for Travis Tanner.  Harvey is the adversary.  Sparks fly.  Events transpire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Straight to the Thunder

**Author's Note:**

> This was loosely inspired by S5ep05 - Toe to Toe, but I wouldn't say there are any spoilers for that episode. Just an idea that turned into something completely different.

Most days, Mike Ross loved working for Travis Tanner. The man lived to win, and always went full-tilt, balls out into any fight. It inspired Mike to watch his boss go toe to toe with the opposition, keeping them off balance, throwing in one new wrinkle after another. Sometimes Mike was that wrinkle. Slick, high-powered attorneys didn’t know what to make of his fresh, young face, awkward demeanor and cheap suits. They tended to underestimate him, or write him off entirely, giving Travis the edge.

Six months into his first year, Mike could go toe to toe nearly as well as Travis. The opposition just didn't know that yet. Fools.

***

Harvey Specter was no fool. Mike knew that going in, because Travis had warned Mike about Jessica Pearson’s vicious attack dog. All the warnings in the world, however, couldn’t have prepared him for the reality of meeting the man in the flesh.

At Travis's suggestion, Mike ambushed him at his favorite bagel cart, putting on a guileless expression and widening his eyes into a counterfeit of admiration. “Excuse me, but aren’t you Harvey Specter?”

Harvey looked him up and down with hot interest that was both unexpected and unsettling. Travis most certainly had not even hinted to Mike about this eventuality. “I’d ask if I know you,” purred Harvey, “but I’m certain we’ve never met. You, I would have remembered.”

Ignoring the flutter of answering interest in his belly, Mike whipped out the Motion to Suppress and slapped it against Harvey’s chest. “Well, now you can remember me as the guy who broke the news that the Anton litigation just got complicated, and who ruined your breakfast.”

Juggling his bagel and coffee, Harvey snatched up the document and scanned it rapidly. He gave an unamused huff of laughter. “Classic Tanner. He’s too much of a chickenshit to hand this to me personally. Guess I can’t blame him, with arguments as paper thin as these.” As he refolded the motion, he gave Mike another thorough perusal, less interested this time, and more drenched with scorn. “Are you what passes for an attorney these days at Hardman Dennis & Tanner? Don’t answer, rookie. That was rhetorical.”

"Don't feel slighted. Travis simply doesn't have time to deal with low priority cases like yours."

With an annoyed looking head tilt, Harvey stepped closer to Mike and tapped the folded document against his chest, leaning in to murmur in his ear. “Bullshit. Go back and tell Daddy that the mean man said he’s going to take this motion and make him eat it, piece by delicious piece, right in open court.”

Mike’s heart was trip-hammering in his chest, with equal parts fear, arousal, admiration and anger. He planted his feet, imagining he could actually feel the heat rising off of Harvey’s skin, right through his perfect suit. “Oh yeah?” he retorted, albeit weakly. “Well, I have a message for you too. Travis has located Furness. Which means Anton’s arguments are shit, and you’d be smart to bring him our settlement offer, sooner rather than later.”

Harvey’s eyes darkened, and now Mike imagined he could almost smell danger emanating from the man, mixed in with his expensive cologne. “Settlement? I haven’t received any – ”

Mike was already fumbling inside his messenger bag. He located the folder and held it in the minimal space that separated them.

Harvey grabbed it from him, took half a step back and opened the folder. Mike could breathe again.

“I’d ask you how long you’ve been talking to Furness, but I expect all I'd get is more Tanner bullshit parroted back at me." He eyed Mike over the top of the folder. "Polly want a cracker?"

Mike rolled his eyes. "Wow, _Harv,_ that's original. Straight out of my Grandpop's joke book. Jesus, just how old are you?" He'd gotten the "Harv" from Tanner, and as predicted, it seemed to get under the man's skin in a satisfying way.

Harvey executed a scowl/sneer combination which made him look ridiculously handsome. "I should be asking you that. Do you even shave yet?"

A lewd response sprang to Mike's lips, but he held it back. "We'll be waiting to hear from you. Or...I could stick around if you need any help with the big words."

"You could stick around if you'd like me to kick your ass." Something feral and predatory flickered in Harvey's eyes, and he stepped back into Mike's space, lips next to his ear. His voice lowered to a husky growl, raising the hairs on the back of Mike's neck. Raising all the hairs on his body. "Would you like that? Or would you like me to spank your naughty little bottom?"

Every speck and molecule of moisture left Mike's mouth at once, only to reappear at his neck, threatening to sweat through his shirt collar, tie, and suit, and run down his back. "Excuse me?" he squeaked.

Harvey laughed, dark and smug, seeming to know he'd won this round, even if he'd played dirty. He spun on his heel and stalked away, leaving Mike speechless and mortified, and intrigued in spite of himself.

Disturbed by his own reaction, he turned to make his way back to the office, reflecting that most days he loved working for Travis Tanner, but today was not one of those days.

***

Travis sent Mike to interview a possible witness in the case, one they hoped to spring on Harvey Specter and his client William Anton at the hearing.   Dorothy Gibbs had been Anton's personal assistant during the time he'd developed the drone prototype that Richard Furness claimed was his design. She'd since retired, and lived in a small, densely furnished third floor apartment near Prospect Park.

As he sat in her stiflingly hot living room, balancing an unwanted cup of lukewarm tea on his knee and fending off a one-eyed chihuahua named Apollo who was hate-humping his ankle, he quizzed her on how much and how often Anton and Furness had collaborated.

Dorothy hummed thoughtfully. "The two of them met in Billy's office quite often. They were always in there with the door shut. I'm afraid I don't have the first idea what they were doing in there."

"Would you say they were on friendly terms with one another at that time?"

"Oh, yes. Billy loved Dick."

Mike cleared his throat to cover his laugh. The intercom buzzer went off, and Dorothy got up to answer it. Mike glared down at Apollo, trying to telepathically alpha-dog it off of his ankle, but no dice. When Mike stretched a tentative, conciliatory hand toward the tiny dog, Apollo snapped at it and gave a warning _grrfff_ before redoubling his efforts to impregnate Mike's leg.

"Damned, dirty dog," Mike muttered.

Dorothy returned to her seat. Her face held a cagey expression, and she refused to meet his gaze.

"So," said Mike, consulting his notes, "let's get back to Billy and -- Gah!" The chihuahua had wrapped it's forepaws around Mike's calf and begun wetly mouthing his pants with a hint of pointy teeth. Mike wiggled his leg, to no avail. Ignoring Dorothy's soft exclamations of alarm, he stood and shook his leg, but the dog continued to adhere. "What in the hell is wrong with this thing?" he wailed, abandoning professional decorum.

"They sense fear," said a dark, amused voice.

Mike stopped agitating the dog long enough to gape at Harvey Specter, who strolled into the lavender and dog piss scented room as if perfectly at home.

"I'm not afraid of it," Mike said through gritted teeth, and then watched, stunned, as Harvey squatted and pointed a finger at Apollo.

"Get down," Harvey ordered.

Apollo let go of Mike's leg and lay on the floor, rolling onto his back and exposing his belly to Harvey.

Mike sort of wanted to do the same thing.

Then Harvey began rubbing Apollo's belly. "Good dog," he murmured. "That's a good boy."

Mike's neck began sweating. Christ. Two encounters with Harvey Specter, and two sweat-stained dress shirts. His dry cleaners was going to love him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, trying to sound every bit as tough as Travis.

"Same thing you are," Harvey said, tucking the dog under one arm like a football and standing in a smoothly elegant motion. "Looking forward to a delicious cup of tea with this delightful lady." He smiled sweetly at Dorothy.

She giggled. "You sure you wouldn't like something stronger?"

He raised an eyebrow. "What are you offering?"

Five minutes later, they were all seated around Dorothy's cluttered coffee table. ("My scrapbooking station," she'd informed Mike earlier. "Since I retired, scrapbooking is my life.") Each of them held a dainty, cut crystal glass of moderately expensive port. Harvey retained Apollo, who had fallen into a doze -- or a love coma -- draped over Harvey's thigh.

Finding himself once again wishing he could trade places with the dog, Mike downed his port in a single, eye-watering gulp. He held out his glass for more, and Dorothy happily complied. She probably hadn't had a party like this since she turned in her Tupperware badge, or whatever the ladies possessed to prove their Tupperware legitimacy.

The port was stronger than he'd expected, and he rapidly found himself pleasantly buzzed, and content for the moment to sit back and watch The Great Closer in action.

"So you're telling me," Harvey was saying, leaning in conspiratorially, "you never listened in to your boss's meetings? Really, Dorothy?"

She laughed the breathless laugh of someone who had just had their socks charmed off. "That would be eavesdropping, Mr. Specter."

"Please. Call me Harvey." His long fingers caressed Apollo's spine, causing orgasmic doggie leg spasms. The dog whimpered.

Oh, wait. That was Mike. He ignored Harvey's side eye.

"Well, Harvey," simpered Dorothy, "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to confess that sometimes -- but only when I thought it was necessary -- I flipped that little green switch on the intercom."

Deciding he needed to reinsert himself into the conversation, Mike leaned forward. "And what did you hear when Anton and Furness were alone together?"

She gave Mike a pinched-mouth look of disapproval. "I already told you. Billy loved dick. And so did Richard. Use your imagination." From the gleam in her eye and the lascivious twist to her tangerine lips, she was doing exactly that.

Mike cleared his throat. "I actually meant more along the lines of, er, non-physical...I mean...the drones?"

"Mr. Ross, Anton Industries hires a whole fleet of MIT graduates, half of whom hold advanced degrees. The R&D department is lousy with them. They all sign a contract when they're hired, expressly stating that anything they develop during their term of employment is the sole property of Anton Industries. The smart drone was developed by R&D. That's the 'D' in R&D, you see. The patent belongs one hundred percent to Mr. Anton."

"Did Richard Furness sign the same document?"

"I don't know, but it wouldn't matter one way or the other. He couldn't have developed his way out of wet paper bag. Billy only hired him as eye candy." She laughed breathlessly. "And other kinds of candy, if you catch my drift."

"Oh, consider it caught." Mike set his empty glass on the coffee table and stood up on legs that were only slightly wobbly. "I think I have all I need." All he needed and more. She'd given him an unexpected gift, and he needed to fill Tanner in ASAP.

Despite his hurry to leave, he paused for a few moments to goggle at her current scrapbooking project: a series of photos depicting Apollo in various outfits, including one with a black collar studded in gold, a matching leather leash, and a little black leather hat.

People and their fucking dogs, he thought, glancing over at Harvey, who was regarding him in return, a nasty smirk on his face. A quick look down at Apollo showed a nearly identical expression. Mike pulled himself together.

"Thank you so much, Dorothy," he gushed, even as he made his way to the front door. "It was a, er, pleasure. And highly illuminating." He wasn't really thinking about what he was saying, and instantly regretted that last remark when sudden understanding glinted in Harvey's eyes. He handed off Apollo to Dorothy with hasty thanks, and shadowed Mike to the door.

In the hallway, he got up in Mike's face, practically backing him up against the wall. "I know what you're up to, and it's not going to work."

There went Mike's heart again, running an all-out sprint inside his chest. "I have no idea -- " This was as far as he got before Harvey placed his index finger against Mike's lips, effectively shushing him.

"I'd hate to hear another lie come out of those pretty pink lips," he whispered, and Mike shuddered. "So shut up and listen. You go back to the office and tell your scumbag of a boss that if he even thinks about counter-suing for sexual harassment, I'll hit back so hard he'll still be tasting blood into next week."

Mike had stopped listening closely after Harvey got to the part about "so hard," but he understood the gist of the threat. "You heard her," he said faintly. Harvey still had his finger to Mike's lips, so when Mike went to lick them, he got a taste of Harvey. "Man candy."

"Actually, her exact words were 'eye candy.' Interesting slip, though."

Instead of removing his finger, Harvey let it slip down to rest against Mike's lower lip. He stroked delicately across to one corner, and back to the other, his dark eyes cataloging Mike's reactions. Then he poked his finger between Mike's lips, and met no resistance. Mike had no strength left to resist. He was too caught up in trying to remember to breathe.

Harvey glanced up and down the empty hallway, and stepped closer, until his body pressed against Mike's. "Suck on it," he whispered.

Mike didn't think -- couldn't think. He softened his tongue, closed his lips around the finger, and let his eyes drift closed while he applied gentle suction. He moaned in the back of his throat while he suckled. Even as his rational mind kept trying to intrude, the rest of him floated in a fog of lust and blind obedience.

The feel of a hand working his belt buckle snapped him out of it. His eyes opened and he turned his head to the side, ejecting Harvey's finger. "What?" he breathed. "The hell?"

Harvey palmed him through his trousers, causing Mike's hips to give an involuntary jerk forward.

"We can't," he protested weakly.

"Can't we?" Harvey's amusement should have been a turn off, but it had the opposite effect on Mike.

"Not here in the hallway." There. He could be sensible.

"You're right." Harvey moved away, but grabbed Mike's tie and towed him toward the stairwell.

The change of venue gave Mike's brain the chance to reassert itself. "What is happening? We really cannot. This is wrong."

By then, Harvey had dragged him into the stairwell and shut the door behind them. "Then leave," suggested Harvey, cool as ice, while his hands went back to work unfastening Mike's pants.

Mike gripped Harvey's wrists, and the other man paused, giving him a questioning look.

"Wait," said Mike. "Wait. We need a plan."

Harvey arched an eyebrow and grinned. "I'm listening."

This was a lot of pressure, but Mike thought rapidly and blurted out, "I suck you. You jerk me off. We go our separate ways and never speak of this again."

Harvey nodded approvingly. But, "Counteroffer," he said. "I put you over my lap and give you the spanking you deserve. Then you suck me, and you jerk yourself off."

Mike knew his cheeks had gone bright pink. He could feel the heat rising off of them.   "Counteroffer accepted," he managed to choke out.

Harvey nodded again, and his hands went back to work. He had Mike unbelted, unbuttoned and unzipped in no time at all. The belt buckle clunked dully on the threadbare carpet as Mike's pants pooled around his ankles.

Harvey sat down on the top step and watched Mike expectantly, waiting for him to make the next move.

Mike was having a little trouble getting over the hump, transitioning from adversarial strangers to...whatever the name for this was. "Call me...." Mike swallowed and tried again. "Say it again, what you said last time."

Anyone else might have had difficulty following his train of thought, but Harvey understood immediately what Mike needed. He patted his thigh. "Get over my lap, naughty boy." When Mike didn't move right away, he added more sternly, "Now."

Mike's rational brain might have refused, but his primitive brain, and his dick -- especially his dick -- were in the driver's seat at the moment. Eyes all but rolling back in his head, he draped himself over Harvey's lap, and groaned when Harvey peeled down his underpants and cool air hit his naked bottom. He could feel Harvey's erection against his hip. He rubbed himself against Harvey's thigh and jerked in surprise when Harvey's hand came down in the first, stinging swat.

"Hold still," murmured Harvey.

It wasn't easy, not when Mike wanted to hump him like a horny chihuahua, but he'd agreed to this, and as Harvey's palm smacked him, again and again, echoing in the enclosed stairwell, Mike forced himself to relax and take it. Not that it was much of a chore. Harvey obviously knew what he was doing, and had also somehow divined that Mike would be into this.

The hits stung, but they didn't hurt, not really, and the situation was just so...hot -- dirty and out of bounds and insane and hot. Someone could walk in on them at any moment, and see Mike's flaming ass, his pants tangled around his feet, his debasement. Mike spent long minutes imagining it, moaning helplessly until Harvey shoved Mike's cheap, skinny tie into his mouth to muffle the sounds. Still, they continued to escape, guttural and heartfelt.

He wanted it to go on, to stay there for hours and days while Harvey just went at him and called him his naughty, dirty boy. Finally, though, Harvey stopped, perhaps feeling the press of time, and the shrinking bubble of this stolen moment. The slaps stopped echoing around them, leaving only Mike's muffled grunts and Harvey's agitated breathing.

Harvey removed the soggy tie from Mike's mouth and helped him to his feet. He indicated the next step down, obviously expected Mike to kneel there, but Mike shook his head. "No. Get up there on the landing. Against the wall. I'm not risking a fall down those stairs."

For a few seconds, it looked as if Harvey was going to be stubborn about it, but he rose slowly and positioned himself where Mike had indicated. Mike knelt in front of Harvey and licked his lips as he lowered his zipper and fished out his cock, pushing his underwear down out of the way, but keeping him clothed otherwise, while Mike remained half-naked. This was Mike's fantasy, and he was achingly hard, close to coming. He could see that Harvey was in the same condition. Fast and sloppy, then.

He grasped the base of Harvey's cock and lowered his head, halting with his mouth open when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He kept his head down and raised his gaze.

"Swallow it all," Harvey ordered. "Not a drop on my suit. I come first, and then I want to watch you. Understood?"

Mike nodded, while his cock responded favorably to the command in the other man's voice. He enveloped the plum-shaped head of Harvey's cock with his mouth and sucked. His tongue stab delicately at the slit, lapping up the moisture he found there, and then moved to the sensitive spot below the head, abrading it over and over, doing nothing to stop the grunting noises which escaped him.

Harvey's hands cradled his head, urging him to get on with it, so he breathed in through his nose and took Harvey in, and holy shit, what a mouthful -- and throatful -- he was. Mike let himself gag on it, let his eyes water and his lungs burn. He allowed a hint of teeth to scrape along Harvey's length, and then went at him with tongue and lips and throat. He lifted up and dropped down again, battering the back of his throat, and kept doing it, working up some speed. Drool snaked down the sides of his neck.

Harvey's hands tightened in his hair, almost to the point of pain, and that spurred Mike's efforts. He hollowed his cheeks and sucked and licked and slurped. Harvey had been almost silent, but now Mike could hear his labored breaths and lowly murmured curses. Mike pulled all the way off with a wet _pop_ and gazed up at Harvey. "Come on old man. I don't have all day."

Harvey growled, eyes ink-dark with lust, and took charge.   His hands gripped Mike's head and he thrust all the way to the back of Mike's throat. Mike grabbed Harvey's thighs and held on for the ride while Harvey fucked his face, fast and brutal. His eyes watered and his throat burned, and it was perfect.

Mike's only warning was the stutter and pause in Harvey's hips. Mike slid his lips up the slippery length, keeping his lips clamped firmly, and swallowed and swallowed, making frantic, hungry noises as Harvey came inside his mouth.

When Harvey was finished, and had withdrawn, and his hands petted Mike's hair, Mike looked up at him, smiling and licking his lips.

"Christ," muttered Harvey, chest still heaving, "that was good, kid."

"My turn," rasped Mike, and his hand was already moving up and down his own cock. Harvey moved away from the wall and backed up a few steps, probably to get a better view. Mike would have preferred Harvey's hand on him, rather than his own, but this was almost as good. He had a few favorite moves, things he usually did with his thumb and wrist and varying the pace, but he was so close, and right now the objective was speed. He worked his cock almost as brutally as Harvey had worked his throat moments earlier. "Ah. God," he groaned, shutting his eyes and throwing his head back, his hand flying up and down his shaft.

He forgot about the dim stairwell. Forgot about Tanner and the case and his precarious position as a fake attorney. There was only him, and his need, and the watching presence of Harvey, who should be his enemy -- who was definitely, unambiguously his enemy -- who observed in silence, and who was probably too entranced to speak or make a noise, except -- what was that?

Mike ignored the minor distraction of Harvey's rustling sounds, and the series of odd clicks, while he frenziedly jacked himself off. His orgasm tore through him, and he couldn't think at all for long seconds. He struggled to keep his shouts tucked inside, to prevent them from echoing up and down the stairwell, and was mostly successful. He finally came down enough to let his eyes drift open.

"Smile," said Harvey, and snapped off two more pictures, his phone making a fake shutter-clicking sound. He grin was pure evil as he slipped the phone back in his pocket. "See you in court tomorrow."

And then he was gone, striding down the stairs so fast that Mike heard the front door of the building open and close before he could even get to his feet. He fought with his pants, which were caught under the soles of his shoes. "Shit," he said, yanking harder. "Shit, shit, shit." He got himself put back together, wiped a cum stain off of his leg, another one off his sleeve, and then stood staring at the wall, replaying the last half hour, and especially the last five minutes.

Harvey had pictures of him. He had pictures of him jerking off in a stairwell. What was he planning to do with those pictures? Send them to Travis? Use them for blackmail?

Goddamned Harvey Specter. _Way to ruin the mood, asshole._

Shoulders slumping, Mike made his stumbling way down the stairs. _Shit._ He was an idiot. What had he been thinking? Why had his dick gone rogue with Harvey Specter, of all people?

Mentally, he addressed his rogue dick. _Stupid. You are so stupid. Like my life wasn't complicated enough, you worthless hunk of man meat._

His dick did not deign to reply, and he imagined it reclining in a post-coital daze, smoking a cigarette, with a stupid grin on its stupid penis face.

_Stupid dick. Try that again and I'll...I'll._

But he couldn't come up with a single punishment that his dick wouldn't enjoy. Except for a prolonged period of celibacy, but neither of them would enjoy that.

***

"This is good, Mike," said Travis, leaning back in his chair with a shit-eating grin on his face. "If we can't get Anton for copyright infringement, we can nail him for sexual harassment. Better yet, I bet we can get him to settle on the first charge by threatening him with the second. Stellar work. I mean that."

"Thanks." Mike shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"You can sit down if you want, Mike."

"That's okay. I'll stand." Sitting in the cab on the way back to the office had been enough to convince him that the throbbing burn from the spanking wouldn't disappear any more quickly than the humiliation of the entire encounter. "Um. You don't need me in court tomorrow, do you?"

"Are you kidding? You've earned this. You should get to see the look on Harvey's face when we stick it to him."

Mike tried to block out the image of Harvey sticking it to him earlier, straight down his throat. He swallowed around the ache that the face-fucking had left behind. "Okay. Sure." He chewed his lip. "How do you think Harvey found her? I mean, how weird that he'd show up while I was there, right?"

Travis laughed. "I made sure he got a tip. Not directly from me, of course. Damn, he's so easy sometimes."

"Yeah." _You have no idea._

"Well, go on and get out of here. Cameron mentioned something about some research he needs done, pronto."

Mike managed a weak smile and left. It would appear that Travis hadn't received the incriminating pictures yet, but Mike felt like there was an enormous, diabolically sharp ax hanging over his head, and only Harvey Specter knew for sure when it would fall.

***

The hearing was anti-climactic.   Harvey asked for a continuance, the judge granted it, pushing the hearing back one week, and then they were all standing out in the hallway, staring one another down – except for Mike, who kept his gaze resolutely fixed on the polished marble floor.

"Well, I'm out of here," declared William Anton. Billy. "Let the trash talking commence." He gave a silky laugh. "Keep it above the belt, gentlemen."

Mike looked up in time to see him leave, followed closely by Richard Furness, who grabbed Anton's elbow at the elevators. They had what appeared to be a brief, heated discussion, and then stepped onto the elevator together. Could it be that a reconciliation was in the works? Neither Travis nor Harvey had watched the departure. Their gazes were locked on one another, and now that Mike was paying attention, he could feel the buzz and crackle of tension that surrounded them.

Mike touched Travis's arm. "We should get going," he said clearly.

Travis shook him off. "I'm still waiting for that motion Harv here promised to make me eat. Well? I skipped breakfast just for this."

"Have some patience, Tanner. When you get it in front of the judge, he'll probably handfeed it to you himself."

"What's the continuance for, Harv? I've never known you to stall when you could charge ahead like a raging bull. I guess you've lost a little something over the years."

Harvey took an aggressive step towards Tanner. "I haven't lost shit. The only one who's lost something is you. You've lost your goddamned mind if you think your transparent little ploy with your associate is going to throw me off my game."

A look of confusion crossed Travis's face, although Mike could see his struggle to conceal it. "You mean finding that witness before you did?"

Harvey's hand went into his pocket. Mike knew immediately what he'd planned, and also knew he couldn't stop him. He watched it happen as if in slow motion. Like a ten car pile-up.  

"No," said Harvey, "I mean, sending your boy in to take a witness statement in a sexual harassment case, and coercing him into this. Points for irony, though."

He held up the phone, showing Travis the perfect, clear, digital evidence of Mike behaving badly. Of course he'd chosen the "money shot," with Mike's cum cascading over his hand. The camera in his phone must be top-notch. The composition wasn't bad. Everything was in focus, from the one bead of sweat tracking down the side of his face, to his slackly open mouth, to his pale, bony knees on the faded, cabbage rose carpet.

Mike made a noise of distress in the back of his throat.

"You sonofabitch," growled Travis, and Mike wasn't sure who he was addressing. Travis looked between Mike and Harvey, finally focusing on Mike. "What the hell, Mike?"

Dissolving into the floor in a puddle of mortified protoplasm did not appear to be an option at the moment. "E-events t-transpired," he stuttered huskily, face hot and red. "I didn't want -- "

That was as far as he got. He'd meant to say, "I didn't want you to know," but Travis didn't wait for him to finish. Mike saw his arm go back, cocking. Without thinking, Mike dove in front of Harvey, rather like a loyal secret service agent defending the president. He didn't actually see Travis’s fist when it struck, because he'd shut his eyes. He felt it, though. It landed on his cheekbone like a Louisville Slugger swinging for the fences, just below his eye, snapping his head back. He dropped like a rock, sitting on the floor at Harvey's feet.

"Mike!" came out of two mouths in unison.

"Ow." He held a hand to his face. Even with his eyes squeezed shut, he could see the little birdies flying around his head, leaving corkscrew trails.   He felt a hand on his shoulder, and somehow recognized it as Harvey's.

"What were you thinking?" asked the enemy.

"Get away from him," snarled Travis.

Harvey stumbled backwards, pushed by Travis. Mike was aware of him, behind him, hovering, but not speaking for the moment.

"Mike. Open your eyes. Shit. I'm sorry." Travis tugged at his hand. "Let me see."

Reluctantly, Mike let go of his cheek. His eyeball didn't fall out, and his head remained attached to his body, so he supposed he was going to live. "I'm okay."

"Good." A long pause. "Why did you jump in front of him?" He gave Mike lop-sided grin. "I was defending your honor."

"Ah." Mike touched his cheek and winced. "I don't actually have any of that. Honor. Not in this instance."

Another long silence from Travis. "What are you telling me?"

Mike's gaze burned a hole in the floor. "Like I said, events transpired. I aided, and I abetted, and Harvey did nothing wrong. Except for letting me do him on Dorothy Gibbs's third floor landing, which neither of us planned. It just...."

"Transpired," Travis finished for him. The expression on his face had changed from worried and sympathetic to disgusted during Mike's faltering explanation.   "Huh. So what you're telling me is that in the middle of a big case, the day before we went to trial, you performed a variety of sex acts with opposing counsel. And of your own volition. Do I have that right?"

"You do," Mike whispered to the floor.

Travis's fist clenched, as if he was considering taking another swing at Mike.

"Tanner," warned Harvey. Mike had almost forgotten he was there.

"Look at me Mike," said Travis. When Mike did so, Travis shook his head sadly. "I took a huge chance on you. Obviously, that was a mistake. You are so fired. You have until five to collect your stuff and turn in your key card and ID." Still shaking his head, he straightened up and headed to the elevator.

Mike leaned his elbows on his knees, and held his head in his hands. "Oh, jesus fucking christ," he moaned.

"Mike," came Harvey's voice, soft and neutral.

"Leave me alone."

"People are staring."

"Like I give a fuck."  

He saw a hand appear in front of his face. A hand with long, elegant fingers that only yesterday had spanked his ass and held his head still while Harvey --

Ignoring the hand, Mike surged to his feet. He stomped toward the elevator, changed his mind, veered toward the stairwell -- and changed his mind again. _No more fucking stairwells. No more stairwell fucking._

He stood in front of the elevator, stabbing and stabbing at the down button. Next to him, Harvey waited silently. Mike chanced a glance in his direction. His expression was blank. He could have been carved in stone. The bastard. This was the fucking asshole who had just lobbed a grenade into the middle of Mike's life, and all he could do was stand there like the newest stupidly handsome addition to Mount Rushmore?

Mike waited until they were on the elevator -- they were its only occupants -- before turning to Harvey. Voice low and furious, he hissed, "I suppose you're pleased with yourself. You beat Travis at his own game. You called him a scumbag, but you know what? The only scumbag I see right now is you. Do you ruin lives for the fun of it? Is it a sport to you? At the end of the day do you go kick back at _Club Asshole_ with a drink in your hand and boast to your buddies about the dumb kid who you got to give you head before you destroyed him? Do you all have a nice laugh about it? Well? Don't you have anything to say?"

He was practically shouting by the time he finished, and his eyes were wet with unshed tears.

"You are so fucking sexy when you get angry."

The elevator doors opened and Harvey strode out, once more leaving Mike speechless and alone.

Specter: three. Ross: zero

***

All that Mike had to pack up from his cubicle was one banker's box of personal items. It was not even half full when he finished. None of the other associates would meet his eyes during the fifteen minutes it took him. Even the receptionists ignored him. Maybe he'd gone invisible.

He carried the box down to street level and stood on the sidewalk, watching traffic crawl past. He should hail a cab, go home, get a decent night's sleep for the first time in six months, and figure out what to do next. As he stepped to the curb, a sleek black town car eased to a stop in front of him. The back passenger window glided down.

Harvey Specter. Of course.

"Come to gloat?" Mike sneered.

"Get in."

"I will not."

"Let me at least give you a ride home. It's the least I can do."

Mike chewed his lip. In his current circumstances, he couldn't exactly afford the extravagance of cab fare all the way to Brooklyn. With his lips pressed together in a thin line meant to denote a grudge still held, he nodded and walked around the car to get in.

The first ten minutes of the drive passed in silence. Finally, Harvey asked, "What did Tanner mean?"

"About what?" Mike glared out his window.

"He said he took a huge chance on you. What did he mean? What chance?"

Mike considered how to answer. Honesty would implicate him. It would also implicate Travis Tanner. He searched inside of himself and discovered that he couldn't care less on either count. So, once more following the teachings of the Mike Ross Fuck It School of Life Decisions, he told the truth.

"I never went to law school."

A stunned beat of silence.

"And Tanner knew that?"

"Yep."

"And hired you anyway?"

"Yes he did."

"Why?"

Mike shrugged. "Because I'm a genius, with an eidetic memory and an original mind." He normally didn't lay it out so bluntly, but he was in a one hundred percent done with it all kind of mood. He didn't care if Harvey believed him. "Haven't you heard? He's been tearing it up in court lately, and in the boardrooms."

"You're saying that was you?" Harvey didn't sound skeptical, but neither did he sound convinced.

"It was the both of us. Together. I played a significant part, though."

"Hm. Firing you seems like a shitty way to repay you for all that success."

"He hates your guts. Don't ask me why. You would know better than I do. But I could have probably done...what we did...with just about anyone else and he wouldn't have minded. Not enough to fire me, anyway."

Harvey was quiet for a few minutes as he seemed to mull that over. "Why did you do it?" he finally asked.

Good question. Great question. Excellent question.

Harvey seemed to actually be waiting for an answer, but Mike wasn’t prepared to Monday morning quarterback his enemy-sex with Harvey. He sighed. "Because I wanted to." The music inside the car changed from bouncy jazz to soft, sad R&B. "Are you going to turn me in?" When Harvey gave him a quizzical look, Mike clarified. "For being a fraud."

"Oh. I probably should. That would certainly take care of my recurring Travis Tanner problem."

Mike's heart sank a little more at that. Foiled by the Fuck It School again. He swallowed painfully. "Can I at least have a chance to say goodbye to my grandmother? She's in a nursing home." He was already planning his escape, calculating the quickest route to Canada or Mexico.

"Exactly how much of a genius are you?"

"Lately, not so much. But everything I've read is engraved up here." He tapped a finger to his temple. "And I've read a lot. Ask me anything."

For the next five minutes, Harvey posed theoreticals, and Mike spit back precedents and statutes and creative solutions improvised on the spot.

Harvey went silent, and then huffed out a laugh. "You are good. I can see why Tanner took that chance on you."

“Yeah, well….” Mike felt both embarrassed and proud of himself. He leaned his head back and stared at the roof of the car. “Thus ends a promising fake career.”

“I’m sorry, Mike.”

Harvey did actually sound sorry, Mike turned his head to study him. “So that whole… _encounter_ we had? You thought I was acting on Travis’s orders?”

“At the time.”

“But you didn’t try to stop me.”

Harvey shifted in his seat, seeming suddenly uncomfortable. “I was curious.”

“To see how far I would go?”

A faint smile touched Harvey’s mouth. “Partly. I also wanted to see if you were any good.” He turned now to look directly at Mike. “And before you ask, the answer is yes. You were spectacular.”

Mike wasn’t sure how Harvey’s confession made him feel. He was still out of a job. His cheek still throbbed and he had the beginning of a black eye. Strangely, though, he no longer felt the humiliation and regret that had filled him when Harvey left him kneeling in the stairwell. If anything, he felt lighter, which is maybe what Harvey had intended when he offered him the ride. “Well.” He looked away and traced the door handle with one finger. “It was my pleasure.”

Five minutes later, the town car pulled to the curb in front of Mike’s apartment building.

“This is where you live?” asked Harvey, lips curled in distaste.

“For now. Until I’m evicted.” He reached for the door handle, and found it locked. “Um.”

Harvey didn’t respond, and seemed deep in thought. Mike leaned back into the plush, leather seat, not in any hurry to climb the stairs to his crappy apartment. The soft music played, creating a sense of intimacy in the enclosed space.

“Come and work for me.” Harvey spoke the words as if forcing them past an obstruction in his throat.

“Now you’re just fucking with me.” Mike examined Harvey, but he appeared to be completely serious. “Okay, that’s just crazy. Travis knows about me. You think he wouldn’t turn you in the first second he got wind of this?”

“And implicate himself? He worked with you for…how long?”

“Six months.”

“He knowingly worked with a fraud for six months. How’s that going to look?”

Harvey had a point. In fact, now that Mike thought about it, that would probably be leverage enough to get his job back. He could threaten Travis with exposure…. Mike looked back at Harvey. Maybe there was a more appealing option.

“If I accept your offer, how would that work? Would there be a replay of what happened yesterday?”

“Of course. As often as possible. Wherever and whenever I say.”

Mike’s eyelids drifted halfway shut, and a quiver went through him at Harvey’s absolute, uncompromising certainty. He straightened up, trying to pull himself together. “That sounds like potential harassment to me.”

Harvey placed a hand on Mike’s leg. “Oh, it would be. Professional, personal, sexual, you name it. I intend to harass your brains out.”

Mike laughed uncertainly.

“And,” Harvey continued, “if you get too mouthy with me, I’ll throw you over my knees again and teach you your proper place. In fact, regular spankings will be part of your employment agreement – the unwritten part, of course.”

“Oh dear god,” Mike whimpered. If not for the presence of Harvey’s driver, he would have enacted the spanking scenario right that instant.

“Is that a yes?” asked Harvey, arching one eyebrow.

Mike breathed in and out rapidly. “Oh, yeah. Come upstairs with me and seal the deal.”

“Are you seriously trying to give me orders?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. In that case….” Harvey leaned forward and spoke to the driver. “You’re off for the night, Ray. Pick us up tomorrow morning at seven.”

 

**The End.**

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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